


Dinner for Two Two-Hundred Years in the Making

by AnnaTheHank



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cheek Kisses, Cooking, Crowley learns to cook, Fluff, M/M, gonna kill Crowley one of these days, oh the fucking cheek kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaTheHank/pseuds/AnnaTheHank
Summary: Crowley decides to learn to cook after a certain idiot angel walks into a war zone for crepes.





	Dinner for Two Two-Hundred Years in the Making

The first time he tries to cook he starts a fire. Electric stoves hadn't been invented yet and demons were never very good at preventing fires in the first place. He could have miracled it all away and started over, but he didn't. He stood there, staring at the flames starting to lick at the side of the wall, letting himself brew in his anger just a little bit longer before he turned and left, letting the professionals deal with it.

Crowley left it alone for a while after that. But then there was another war. And rushing in to rescue Aziraphale was a reminder that that idiot had actually gone into a war zone to get crepes. Oh, and brioche.

So Crowley tried again. There was no great fire this time, but there was burnt everything on the plate. Crowley cried out in frustration, tossed it all in the trash, and moved on with his life.

He didn't think about it again until a few decades later when he was going about his wily ways and he passed a flyer for a cooking class at the local college.

Crowley ripped the flier down and sneered at it. He didn't need someone to teach him to cook. He was a demon. He could miracle up whatever he damn well pleased. But Aziraphale kept doing dumb stuff for food. He, too, could make whatever he wanted but he didn't. There was something he liked about human prepared food and Crowley figured it was the skill that went into it, a skill he didn't have. 

So, grumbling all the way, Crowley went to class on Thursday night. 

They were making something called Pasta Primavera. Crowley set the pot down at his little cooking center, filled it up with water, and grabbed the pasta box, frowning at it as he tore the top open.

“You’re not going to put that in right away, are you?” the person that was sharing his station with him asked, holding a knife in a slightly trembling hand. 

Crowley scowled at her. “Why not?”

“Y-you have to wait for it to boil.” She was young, probably taking this as a supplement class to her normal studies. She was wearing a classic blue picnic table cloth style apron and her hair was pulled up into a neat bun.

Crowley, upon being told he had to wear an apron or he couldn’t take the class (something about a lawsuit a few years ago involving a ruined blouse) was sporting a black and red checkered one he had made himself, with little devil tails at the end of the ties.

Crowley looked down at the pot. “Well how long is that going to take?” he asked.

“Few minutes at least.”

Crowley huffed and slammed the box down on the counter, a few pasta bits falling out. “People actually enjoy this? Sitting around waiting for water to get hot?”

“I find cooking is all about time management,” the girl said. She smiled softly, her body relaxing a bit. “For instance, we have to bake the vegetables right? So while I’m waiting for the water to boil, I’m chopping up my vegetables.”

“Huh,” Crowley glanced at her from underneath his glasses. “Clever.”

Crowley decided he’d do the same. He could feel the girl stare at him with wide eyes as he chopped through the vegetables. He wasn’t trying to use any gimmicks or tricks, but he had always been pretty good with knives. 

“You’re really good at that.”

“Thanks.”

Crowley pulled out a baking sheet from the cupboard below their station and shoveled the vegetables onto it.

“No,” his partner said, as if personally offended he was doing such a thing. She scooted over, grabbing the pan from him and giving him a stern look. “You can’t bake them directly on the pan?”

Crowley groaned, “Oh why not?”

“It’ll burn!” She dumped the vegetables back onto the cutting board and put a sheet of baking paper down for him.

Crowley rolled his eyes and shoveled the vegetables back on. The girl gasped a bit when he just splashed a bit of oil around on top and slid the sheet into the oven, but she didn’t say anything else about it.

In the end, what Crowley made wasn’t totally inedible, but it was certainly nothing he would ever present to Aziraphale. He left class dejected, mainly cause that meant he’d have to come back for at least another class.

As it turned out, he had to go for the whole semester before he even thought about making something for Aziraphale. He did make sure that at every class he was at the same station as the young woman who kept offering, well, interjecting advice. He may have actually learned a few things, despite his better judgment. 

There were a few times he absolutely thought about quitting. So many times he had ruined whatever he was trying to make, or he had grown annoyed with all the waiting that he had to do. But all he had to do was think about Aziraphale. About the face he always seemed to make whenever he had something particularly delicious. It was such a beautiful face and Crowley couldn’t wait until that face was being directed at him, for being the one that made the food he liked so much. 

And a few months later, it was finally time.

Crowley showed up at Aziraphale’s bookshop with a shopping bag full of food and a stomach full of butterflies. 

“Ah, there you are,” Aziraphale said, welcoming him in that evening and turning the shop sign around to ‘closed’. “So, where shall we go for dinner?”

“Here.” Crowley sauntered in and started heading for the kitchen in the back. It didn’t get used much outside of Aziraphale making tea or cocoa. The equipment inside was a bit out of date, but they would do.

“Oh, you’ve brought take-out?” Aziraphale asked, smile on his face as he followed Crowley into the room.

“Nope.” Crowley set the bag down on the counter and started taking out the ingredients.

“Oh?” Aziraphale stepped closer and craned his neck, looking at the food that he pulled out. “You’re...you’re going to cook?”

Crowley glanced over at him. “Yes, I’m going to cook,” he said. “Problem with that?”

“Oh no. Not at all.” Aziraphale stepped back, coughed a bit. “It’s just, you’ve never actually cooked before?”

“Well, I’m cooking now.”

Aziraphale nodded and stood there, watching as Crowley started to prepare. It was making him nervous, the angel just standing there, watching him. Made him think he wasn’t really up to the task and maybe he should have taken the advanced classes before this.

“Why don’t you go and clean up your shop,” Crowley suggested, turning to look at Aziraphale over his shoulder. “It’ll be ready before you know it.”

Aziraphale gave him a wary look but nodded, turning and leaving him to it. Crowley sighed and relaxed, focusing his attention on the task at hand. He had to make this perfect. It wasn’t the hardest recipe, duck in a wine sauce with a side of roasted vegetables (cooked on a sheet of baking paper).

Aziraphale kept popping in to check on him, hovering close, observing Crowley as he worked, and he kept chasing him away, needing the space and clarity of mind to make sure nothing went wrong.

He even set the table for the two of them, knowing the presentation was half the battle. He placed carved duck pieces on the plates, pouring the sauce over it in a fancy little design. When it was finally ready he called the angel back in.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said as he wandered into the room. “Oh, it smells heavenly.”

Crowley rolled his eyes at the comment and held out the chair for him before sitting at his own place. Aziraphale looked at it with wonder in his eyes and Crowley picked up his fork, watching with held breath as Aziraphale opened his napkin onto his lap.

Aziraphale cut one bite out and raised it to his lips. Crowley tensed up, watching, waiting, the fork bending under his grip. Aziraphale popped the bite into his mouth, waited a second, then closed his eyes and moaned a bit with a satisfying little sigh. The fork snapped in Crowley’s hand, but he miracled it back together before Aziraphale could notice.

“It’s quite delicious,” Aziraphale said. And there it was. The face. Crowley almost wept tears of joy at it. “And you made this?” Aziraphale asked. “All by yourself?”

“Yes, all by myself,” Crowley said, slightly offended. “You watched me doing it half the time.”

Aziraphale smiled at him and went for another bite. “You should be quite proud.”

Crowley felt himself blush a little bit and the two went about their meal, making their usual chit-chat, interrupted occasionally so that Aziraphale could compliment Crowley on his meal.

When they were finished, Aziraphale stood up, wiped his mouth off on his napkin and walked around the table to Crowley’s seat. Crowley looked up at him, a little worried. Then Aziraphale bent over and placed a small little peck of a kiss to Crowley’s cheek.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said, standing up straight.

But Crowley couldn’t hear him. He was too busy melting. He felt like he was literally melting, his insides turning to jelly as he shank down in his seat. He had been looking forward to that face but a kiss? A kiss from his love just for cooking? He was going to have to do this a lot more often.

Like, a lot, a lot.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I've made a discord for Good Omens fic writers and readers so feel free to join if you're interested <3  
> https://discord.gg/ApAEX9Q


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